HARLAN COLBY PEARSON. Dartmouth Literary Monthly.
~A Spring Lament.~
The spring is come; warm breezes blow;
It doesn't make me happy, tho';—
For seasons' changes only bring
To me the pain of ordering
Another suit. Style changes so!
This hat I'll hardly dare to show
Near "Easter bonnets;" it's too low;
I fear I must be purchasing;
The spring is come.
I'm glad to have the winter go;
I don't like ice, I don't like snow.
Green fields, bright flowers, and birds to sing,
Of course I like that sort of thing;
But still—it makes me blue to know
The spring is come.
LOUIS JONES MAGEE. Wesleyan Argus.
~A Street-Car Romance.~
I write to offer you my heart,
O maiden, whom I do not know.
Pray do not think me premature
In making known my feelings so,
For I have loved you steadfastly,
O damsel of the unknown name,
And all last night and half to-day
My passion has been in a flame.
'Twas not your face, though that is fair,
Nor yet your voice bewitched me so:
(I heard you ask the motor-man
How long before the car would go.)
I saw you on the car that went
From Harvard Square on Tuesday noon;
I don't believe that you saw me,
For you were reading the Lampoon.
And this is why I write to you:
To say that I am wholly thine,
I love you, for that first-page joke,—
The one you laughed at,—that was mine.